Chapter Eighteen

Aiden

M y mind was an elaborate map of pinboards, photos, and red string as I tried to make sense of everything. Odette revealed so little of herself and her thoughts that I only had suspicions to base my evidence on.

My suspect list was short, but I was confident they were somehow tied together. Her dreams, her father, the dinner, sleepwalking, her earlier verbiage ‘ fuck me thoughtless,’ and presumed sexual assault.

I couldn’t get her expression out of my mind when she saw the blood on her sheets. She looked surprised for a split second, then relief so substantial that it visibly relaxed her shoulders. It explained her solemn attitude in the shower, where she must have been looking for a sign that virginity was lost—that she was indeed a virgin.

Something happened to her. I was more than confident of it. I didn’t understand how she didn’t know if she was a virgin or not. Her suspicion, realization, or actual happening must have been recent because only weeks ago, she said the only way she could have gotten an STD was from a toilet seat, for God’s sake.

Not knowing something has always filled me with a void. I knew everything, even the things I didn’t necessarily want or need to know. My intuition and quick thinking rarely failed me. Not knowing what happened to her tonight was killing me.

One thing I was sure of, if my hunch was correct, and a man or woman had laid a finger on my girl, I would go to prison. Odette was horrendously wealthy, widely known across the state, young and beautiful, and, as much as I hated to admit it, with her lack of muscle and obliviousness—an easy target. With all the money her father had, I was shocked she didn’t have some kind of protection or bodyguard. I had never thought about it before because I didn’t need to until now, but the girl was a moving target.

If someone touched her, I’d have to become an expert at hiding a murder scene overnight, or I’d happily go to prison.

My blood boiled, and I continued to fight the urge to wake her up and start my interrogation now. It’d been over an hour since we’d come to bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted and probably emotionally drained from whatever put her into a frenzy tonight.

For a while, I held her close, basking in the fact that I finally got to have her. Fuck, she was so tight and silky. If I wasn’t careful, there was a chance that I’d never stop fucking her once I started. Her little moans and sighs, and the way her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me further into her greedy cunt as I spilled my seed into her—the memory had my cock pulsing, craving her again.

Despite my investigation, confusion, and thoughts of manslaughter, I couldn’t stop myself from needing her.

Like a teenage boy, I found it challenging to focus on anything other than her dripping pussy. God, I wanted to tear her in half. Tonight was amazing, but it wasn’t my idea of fucking. I was slow and gentle and only took her in one position. Hell—I didn’t even smack her ass. I deserved kudos for how restrained I was.

Depending on what she tells us tomorrow, and if everyone was still up for it after that conversation, I would get what I wanted tomorrow. I wanted tears streaming down her face as I spat into her slutty mouth, the sound of her desperate cries pleading me to slow, overwhelmed by orgasm after orgasm. I craved her destruction.

She could take it. She just needed a little convincing. I meant every word I said earlier; we would fuck her brains out. After tomorrow, there won’t be an unfucked-on surface in this house. The clean-up would be monstrous but entirely worth the fun.

Gazing down at her peacefully sleeping, I almost felt bad for the Doll. She would be thrown to the wolves—hungry, ravenous wolves.

She was deep in sleep, and I had no problem slipping my arm out from under her. She moaned and shifted in her sleep, her hair wildly sprawled out onto the pillows, the blanket pulled down to her ribs, and her arms relaxed above her head. My sleeping beauty.

Stealthily, I quickly slipped from my bed, needing two things. A cigarette, and to inform my friends of tomorrow’s possible complicated conversation. I didn’t usually smoke after sex, but after how good she felt wrapped around me, I needed something to relax me before waking her and beginning our fuckathon early. She needed sleep because she was in for a long day.

As expected, they were in the living room, grading papers. Niko was the first to notice me. “What are you doing down here?” He asked, clearly irked I wasn’t cuddling Odette after sex.

I sighed and grabbed a cigarette and lighter from a drawer by the front door. I didn’t like leaving her either, but there was no harm unless she woke to find me missing—which wouldn’t happen. “She’s out cold. I need to tell you something,” I opened the front door, gesturing for them to join me outside.

Noise carried through this house like air. I didn’t want us to wake her, or better yet, for her to hear the conversation.

Niko rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to brag, dude.”

“Niko.” I shot him a stern glance, showing my seriousness. My tone had them scrunching their eyebrows and setting their paperwork aside to join me.

“Everything okay?” Wyatt asked cautiously.

The cherry of my cigarette lit red as I puffed, and the smoke filling my lungs instantly lessened the need to wake her.

It was late, and the only light was the moonlight, as all the lights in the house were off or not visible from the porch. I was shirtless, but the bite of the cold didn’t bother me.

“Odette has sexual trauma,” I blurted. I never was able to beat around the bush.

Many seconds went by as they stared at me with twisted faces, morphing from sadness to anger, then confusion.

“How do you know?” Wyatt questioned.

“Afterward, she was looking for blood on her thighs, and when she found none, her entire demeanor changed to one of concern. Then, when she saw blood on the sheets, she was relieved ,” I explained, halfway done with my cigarette and itching to get back in bed with her. But I needed to prepare them the best I could. “I must have made a face because she told me she’d explain tomorrow,” I finished.

Dominic’s face was stoic. Even with my keen eyes, I saw nothing but a void neutralness that he wore like a mask. His mask didn’t slip, and he said nothing as he opened the door and returned to the house.

The man had a particular distaste for these kinds of topics. He had enough trauma to last ten lifetimes, and I was confident he was boiling with rage. Considering how much he cared for Odette (although he hadn’t entirely accepted his own affections), I couldn’t imagine the thoughts racing through his mind. His anger issues were not to be prodded at; he possessed a fury unlike I’d ever seen before—and I hoped to God he got his hands on whoever (assumably) touched our girl. He knew where to hit them to cause excruciating pain but not fatally harm.

Niko’s shoulders fell. “You’ve overanalyzed before, Aiden. Is there a chance that’s what’s happening here? She had a rough night; maybe that’s what she was referring to when she said she’d tell us .” He crossed his arms over his chest. “She would have told us if she was assaulted, she knows how important it is that we know these things,” he dismissed.

“I don’t think she would have said anything,” Wyatt argued. “If what Aiden said is true, she wouldn’t have told anyone. That’s how she was raised. She doesn’t want to be a bother, she doesn’t want to be pitied, and she doesn’t want help.”

He was right. She’d probably been self-soothing since she was a toddler. The stuffed bears were enough evidence of that. I despised that her initial reaction to almost anything was to cope and deal with it herself. We’d be ignorant to think she dealt with trauma any differently.

Taking my final puff, I turned to go back inside. I said what I needed to say. My movements halted as Dominic stepped out the door again, his phone in his hands. He was calling someone, the phone ringing, waiting to be picked up.

It was nearly three in the morning, and whoever he was insistent on calling probably wouldn’t answer. “Who is that?” I questioned.

Before Dominic could answer, a groggy voice answered. “Dom... do you know what fucking time it is?” Vincent raised his complaint.

Why didn’t I think of that? He was there with her all night. Sure, it may have violated her privacy, but I couldn’t be bothered with caring.

“What happened tonight?” Dominic asked, though it wasn’t a question at all. It was a demand.

Shuffling was heard on the other end as he probably sat up in his bed. He sighed, “What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. Not a Goddamn thing,” Niko blurted, looking convinced that something had happened now, the eerie tone of Vincent confirmed it.

We were putting him in an uncomfortable situation, but if he knew something about our submissive, he knew damn well he should have told us immediately.

“Look, I told her she needed to tell you what happened, or I would. I wasn’t intentionally keeping anything from you; let me make that clear,” he defended. “A little bit after we arrived, she slipped away and went upstairs—I don’t know why or what she was doing. Some creepy fucks had been eyeing her all night, which she was completely oblivious to, by the way,” he warned.

Easy target.

“A group of Charles’ business partners watched her leave, and they were about to follow her up as a group, but a crooked, corrupt man named Lestat said something to them before they fell back, and he went up alone after her. Obviously, I went up after them,” he took a thick pause. “Are you all there?” he asked.

“Yes.” We answered in unison, eagerly waiting for him to finish his horror tale.

“When I passed by that group of men, they were whispering profane things—things I won’t repeat. When I got up to where Odette and sick-fuck were, she was standing at the end of a hall, and he was blocking her exit around him, spewing some shit about how she learned ‘big girl things in college’ and how he was going to pull her into a room and fuck her. The poor girl was literally frozen in terror when I stepped in. I threatened him, mentioned the four of you, and he fucked off,” he finished.

Lestat.

Although the name never left my lips, I could taste the poison on my tongue. Vincent was wise not to mention a last name. Even so, I was sure it wouldn’t be hard to find him, assuming he was wealthy and what some would consider upper-class.

Knowing what happened and what was about to happen to her tonight made my blood burn under my skin. The scene played out perfectly in my head; I could picture her frozen in shock.

She mentioned her legs locking up before when that fuckass Ridley tried to fuck her. Unfortunately, freezing up like that was a widespread defense mechanism, or in her case, a trauma response.

Whoever Lestat was, he was on top of our shitlist, and for his sake, I hoped we’d never cross paths—and that Dominic wouldn’t hunt him down and beat him to death.

Vincent yawned while he started speaking again. “Then shit really hit the fan when Charles started talking, but I’m sure she mentioned that part.”

I shared a look with Wyatt. As usual, we were on the same wavelength and equal parts, confused and concerned that she didn’t tell us about the evening at all . “She didn’t tell us anything,” I repeated. We were entirely in the dark.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, probably thinking the call was ended and he could go back to sleep. “Charles announced to everyone at dinner that he’s dying. He has stage four cancer, and the doctors told him treatment would just put him in more pain at this point. The old fuck is too stubborn to go out on cancer’s terms and has a scheduled euthanasia the day after Odette graduates,” he explained quickly. “You should have seen her face, man... she didn’t even touch her dinner,” he muttered.

How could she pity him? I knew he was her father, but the man was clearly cruel and abusive. My conclusion only came from what she’d chosen to tell us, and I knew there was more. Maybe I was just a shallow, soulless monster—but if I were her, I’d be celebrating.

“The most fucked part is, he had his will read. Close business partners, ex-wives, and his staff get a small percentage. The rest of his billions...” he paused for emphasis, and I rolled my eyes. “Is going to her... husband .”

“She’s married?!” Niko blurted, an insane, wild look behind his eyes.

In unison, we hushed him. “No, dumbass,” I assured. “He’s not giving the money to her; he’s giving it to the man he assumes she’ll marry—it’s sexist; he’s basically putting her up for auction for the highest bidder,” I explained while lighting my second cigarette of the night.

Niko relaxed and slowly nodded, coming down from his alarm. He was intelligent, more than he should have been for a man of his age, but damn... deep down, beyond his olive skin and dark hair, he must have been blond. Sometimes, things went right over his head, or he’d interpret them much differently than we did. We were always entertained, to say the least.

“Is that even legal?” Wyatt questioned.

“When you have enough money... you can find loopholes or tip-off lawyers to make things happen,” Vincent answered.

My stomach was in knots, and I understood why she may have wanted to wait till morning. It was a lot in one evening, and she needed to process it. I also understood her insistence on having sex tonight. If her father left a future husband in the will, she probably felt a lack of self-worth and powerlessness. She wanted to have sex on her own terms—I respected that.

“Anything else? Like a last name?” Dominic rasped.

Vincent chuckled, but there was hardly humor in the noise. “No, that’s everything. Charles took her to talk in his office after dinner, but no one knows what was said.” He avoided Dominic’s pry for information about Lestat.

He was a stranger to us. A stranger who was enemy number one.

“As much as I’d like to sit here and listen to you all breathe, I’m going back to sleep. Sorry for the bad news,” he voiced before the call ended.

Looking around at my friends, none of us knew what to say. Words weren’t necessary; we knew what had happened now—mostly—there was still the question of the blood on the bedsheets. Our girl had been through hell tonight, and I was just glad she was home again.

An overwhelming need to wrap her in my arms and scare all her monsters away took over. I disposed of my cigarette and dismissed myself from my friends, returning to my room.

She was right where I left her, sprawled out in my bed with long eyelashes fanning over the apex of her cheeks. She truly was a beauty.

Attempting to keep her asleep, I slid into bed next to her. My efforts failed as she shifted in her sleep. “Aiden? Where’d you go?” She mumbled, sleep heavy in her tone.

“The bathroom,” I lied. “Go back to sleep, Doll,” I coaxed.

Her cold feet brushed against my thigh as she curled beside me. “I’m hungry,” she announced, rubbing her tired eyes.

“Breakfast is in a few hours,” I comforted. “Unless you’d rather go eat now—”

A loud sound coming from her rumbling stomach cut me off, and I widened my eyes. Note to self: always feed Odette.

I hated that she didn’t eat dinner— at a dinner party— but if I had a heart as big as hers and emotions just as fragile, my appetite would be ruined, too.

“Maybe I’ll just go grab something real quick,” she decided, moving to get out of bed.

Eyeing her cautiously, I pondered what scenarios could happen if she went downstairs immediately after our conversation with Vincent. Now that we had an idea of what happened and with little time to process it, she might be bombarded with questions. As well intended as those questions may be, it might come off as an interrogation. “I can grab you something, Doll,” I bargained, hoping she’d take the bait.

No one wanted to interrogate, question, and pry more than I, but there was a way to have this conversation. It wasn’t the proper time. Not for her , who had a fucked day, had sex for the first time, and she was hungry. And not for us who were all inherently protective, learned what happened two minutes ago, and had murder on our minds. We’d also have to mention that we violated her privacy by asking Vincent about tonight.

With a gentle shake of her head and a tired smile, she declined. “I’m pretty sure eating in bed is a crime—crumbs,” she shrugged.

Deciding I couldn’t stop her, I prepared myself for what I hoped wouldn’t be a complete disaster. “What are you hungry for?” I asked, placing my hand on the small of her back as I led her downstairs.

I took note of a very subtle limp as she walked, almost as if she was trying not to limp. I bit back a smirk, eager to watch her crumble tomorrow—or whenever the fuckathon began. I hadn’t had sex that was so... vanilla since I was probably a preteen. If that made her limp, I hoped she was just sore from it being her first time. If not, she’d shatter like glass with us.

“I don’t know,” she dismissed. “Whatever leftovers we have,” she decided.

All eyes were on her as we descended the steps. Those idiots weren’t subtle with their confused expressions, either. To their credit, they probably weren’t worried about saving face. They had questions and needed answers.

She couldn’t see me behind her, so I pretended to eat something and pointed to her. Hopefully, they understood ‘she’s hungry and not down here to talk about tonight’s events or the assumed sexual assault.’

Niko stood quickly, clearly understanding my charade. Food was his love language, and it was his turn to do his thing. “Tired of Aiden already?” He teased.

A small, breathy laugh left her lips as she shook her head. “Not quite; I got hungry,” she admitted. I was sure it was music to his ears.

A fake, shocked face overtook his features as he grabbed her hand and stole her away from me. “You’ve come to the right place, I have the perfect virginity food—”

“Cherries?” She deadpanned.

“Pop-Tarts,” he smirked. “And while you’re eating them, I can play you that Akon and Lonely Island song,” he continued to tease, horrendously beginning to belt out the crude, humorous lyrics.

It was relieving to hear her laugh. I didn’t think I’d hear that tonight. God, I was grateful for Niko and his ability to turn a mood.

I followed behind them, with Wyatt and Dominic behind me. We watched her attempt to cover his mouth and stop his teasing, but her efforts went to waste. She was sat on a stool at the counter. It was only when a toasted pair of Pop-Tarts were set in front of her that Niko finished the song.

“So, what did you have for dinner?” Niko asked, and my hopes that this wouldn’t turn into an interview crumbled. He knew she didn’t eat, and this was his segue to why.

We were all on one side of the counter, and she was on the opposite. I moved to the end of the counter so she’d feel less intimidated when this went south. No one had the intention of ganging up on her, but that was how it could feel to her. Also, this spot gave me a view of everyone—hence why I wasn’t sitting next to her.

Odette’s eyes quickly shifted to her food before looking back at Niko nonchalantly. “They served soup and salad,” she cleverly replied.

Despite her work around verbiage, Niko seemed put off. “Soup and salad...” he repeated with distaste. “What, did the supermarket run out of filet mignon?” He pried. I hadn’t even thought of that when she answered. All the money her father had, the time he must’ve spent planning the event, and a wealthy man’s need to impress... didn’t call for soup and salad.

Using her palm to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she answered, “Nope, everyone else got something different. I’m special and got a salad.” She laughed, but her tone was not humorous.

That motherfucker. Had Charles been doing that her entire life? I couldn’t imagine having to go through that as a teenager. I was sure he created an eating disorder or at least a complex.

I didn’t care that he was her father—she was no longer allowed to see him. As long as we had something to say about it—and none of us planned on letting her go—she would be safe from him for the rest of his miserable short months.

“Can you tell us what happened tonight?” Wyatt asked gently, which shocked me. For as pissed off as we all were, this was very much a Hyde situation, and I applauded him for keeping himself composed. “As horrible as the salad detail is, I don’t think that’s what set you off, Baby,” he reasoned. Even with our knowledge of what Vincent told us, he looked concerned and genuinely curious. His eyes showed sincerity and gentleness, which would have taken me immense effort to express.

Fuck, this was going better than I expected. If it wasn’t for the permanent glare on Dominic’s mug, I’d call it a success—so far.

Her next move was a mystery to me as she stared at Wyatt and nibbled on the corner of the square-shaped treat. Sharing her life, especially the issues in it, was difficult for her. It wasn’t a matter of trust. She trusted us; I was confident of that. Wyatt said it best earlier: She didn’t want anyone to worry or to be a burden. That was why I couldn’t figure out if she would tell us or brush it off.

She was clearly trying to figure out what to say if she decided to say anything to us at all. Her eyes finally moved away from Wyatt, where she locked eyes with the rest of us for a few seconds. Two minutes had passed since anyone spoke, and I doubted she was aware it’d been so long. She was overthinking, something she did often.

Having decided, she placed the half-eaten Pop-Tart back on the plate. Here we go.

Her gaze landed on Wyatt again as she spoke. “Do you remember when I hit my head in your office?” she began, her voice forcing itself to be even and calm. I was very confused about what that had to do with anything, but my intrigue peaked as I leaned my arms against the counter.

Wyatt’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, and he nodded, “Yes.”

The remains of her food were being picked at by her nervous fingers as she focused on that rather than looking at any of us for more than a few seconds. “So, I learned from the pretty doctor—the one with the doctor made of plastic,” she eyed Dominic. “Apparently, when something... bad happens to you, sometimes your brain does this really cool thing where it forgets,” she stumbled through her words, looking extra small and shrunken in the stool. I was sure that she could’ve disappeared entirely in my T-shirt at that moment if she wanted to.

It was obvious where she was headed with this. I wanted to save her from as much explaining as I could. “And when you hit your head, it released memories?” I concluded.

Her bottom lip wobbled for a split second before she averted her eyes again. “Dreams,” she whispered. “I thought they were just my sick imagination, but they were memories,” she said mostly to herself. She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat, looking back up at us again. Her wall was made of hay, and she was trying so hard to keep it from blowing over. “I used to sleepwalk as a kid, with my eyes open, but I was completely unconscious and processing very, very little around me.”

I hated where this was going, and I honestly didn’t like the hunch I had about what she’d say next.

She sucked in a breath, “Long story short—”

I knew she would do that. Beat around the bush, give the PG version of a rated R movie, and dismiss the severity of a situation. We should count ourselves lucky that she was willing to share this with us at all, regardless of what she was and wasn’t comfortable giving us the details on.

“One night, when I was about 12, I was sleepwalking and wandered to Charles’ wing of the house. He was in a business meeting, and the man told Charles that if he left the room for five minutes, he’d agree to whatever deal they were discussing.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she stopped talking, blinking tears out of her eyes.

It was worse than I imagined. So much fucking worse.

Uncomfortably, she shifted on the stool before speaking again. “I didn’t want to believe the dreams were real, so tonight I wanted to see Charles’ wing of the house,” she glanced at all of us. “I have never consciously seen anything past the doors, and I knew that if I recognized the room, it was real,” she explained casually as if she weren’t describing several crimes, felonies, corrupt men, and what her own father did.

“Vincent told us the rest,” Dominic cut in, stopping her from having to explain everything else. Considering what she’d already had to reveal, it was a good call on his part.

She slowly nodded, not looking as betrayed as I expected. “I figured he would.”

Wyatt had a disgusted, bewildered expression. “Baby, you have to tell the authorities—”

“And say what?” She snapped. “I have no proof,” she deadpanned. “Even if I did, Charles’ legal team is a monster, and I’m sure whatever business partners that he had jerk off on me are equally as monstrous,” she rushed out, clearly having given this thought.

The venom in her tone when she said the words jerk off sent a shiver up my spine. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or sad, but I was willing to bet it was a combination of both. I knew corrupt people like this existed in the world, but I had never heard of something like this happening, especially to someone close to me. What kind of men lusted after a fucking child? Not only did her father agree, he’d encouraged it.

“Okay…” Wyatt held his hands up, a gentleness in his eyes. He took a breath, probably at a loss for words.

Hell, I didn’t even know what to say. I could have asked if she was okay, but the question was moronic at best. She obviously wasn’t okay. No one would be. The best I could offer were the names of therapists specializing in childhood trauma or sexual abuse. I had friends nationwide who were the best of the best, and if she wanted, I could get her an appointment in the blink of an eye.

With sunken shoulders and the whites of his eyes slightly reddened with emotion, Niko walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

Niko may have been the smartest of us all. Sometimes, there were no words.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she basked in his comfort. When she opened them again, she looked between the four of us. “Just don’t be weird around me now, okay?” She tried to joke, but none of us cracked a smile.

Weird? Many words came to mind when I thought of how I would act around her. Protective was currently very high on that list. If I felt murderous before, I really did now.

There was no doubt in my mind that the men Vincent mentioned before were others who assaulted her in Charles’ wing. The fact that they were so confident and willing to approach her made my blood run cold. It just showed that they were completely aware of her being unconscious and assumed she had no recollection of what they did.

“Odette, I don’t want you going anywhere near Charles until he’s buried,” I demanded. I didn’t care how harsh I sounded or that he was her only blood relation. Nor did I care about how sad it made her that he was death-bound or if she’d think ill of me.

I couldn’t change the past—as much as I would’ve liked to. If there was one thing I was certain of, that man would never use, manipulate, or abuse her in any kind of way. She wasn’t his anymore.